The Templar's Secret (The Templar Series) (50 page)

Anala winced, clearly petrified.

‘A rather pitiful knight in shining armor, aren’t I?’ he muttered.

‘
I didn’t want to die inside that dark cellar. This . . . this is better.’ One side of Anala’s mouth curved in a rueful half-smile. ‘At least now I won’t die alone.’

Caedmon
’s gut twisted, horrified to think that her captors had intended for her to die all alone in that miserable little hole.

Extending his left arm, he pu
t a steadying hand on her shoulder, needing her to emotionally hold it together. ‘We
will
get out of this mess alive because I’m not inclined to die today.’ He gently squeezed her shoulder before removing his hand. ‘Here’s the plan. I’m going to sneak out of the cottage and take down the gunman.’

‘
By that you mean kill him, right?’ Anala didn’t miss a beat. Or a euphemism.

‘
I have no choice,’ he informed her, certain that in his daughter’s eyes he’d just gone from white knight to dark demon. He considered telling her that he would derive no pleasure from the bloodthirsty act, but wasn’t entirely certain that would prove true. ‘The gunman knows that we’re armed with a shotgun.’

‘
So, if he’s a smart man, he’s not going to enter the cottage.’

‘
Even a halfwit will avoid the deadly welcome that awaits him if he does. Since he knows that there are only two means of entering the house –through
this
door –’ Caedmon jutted his chin at the nearby vestibule – ‘or the front door located on the other side of the cottage, I suspect that he’s taken up a position where he can safely monitor both points of egress.’

‘
But he won’t be able to keep a watchful eye on all of the windows.’

Caedmon
nodded. Even in a weakened condition, Anala had a nimble mind. ‘Which is why I’ll exit through one of the windows on the southern side of the house where, hopefully, I won’t be observed.’

‘
Don’t you mean that
we’ll
exit?’

‘
Actually, it’ll be safer if you remain inside the cottage. I’ll leave you the shotgun.’

‘
But I think it would be better if –’

‘
The matter isn’t open for discussion,’ he interjected, tabling her objection.

She
opened her mouth, presumably to lodge another protest; then just as quickly clamped her lips shut.

Caedmon
passed her the Mossberg. ‘Have you ever fired one of these?’

‘
No. So you’d better give me a quick primer before you leave.’ Eyes narrowed, she peered over at him. ‘While I never thought I’d ever feel this way, I’m rather hoping the bastard
does
walk through the kitchen door . . . I want to look him in the eye when I pull the trigger.’

The dead tread softly
. . . And those stalking the living tread even more lightly.

A ghoulish thought that occurred to
Caedmon as he slid open the dining-room window. Having already decided upon the one and only rule of engagement – that the last man standing at the end of the deadly bout would be declared the winner – he ducked his head and swung a leg over the sash, lowering himself to the ground.

Hugging the shadows, he stealthily moved away from the cottage, careful to stay out of the gunman’s line of sight. It meant taking a more circuitous route; one that cost him precious minutes. But it was time he gladly relinquished in the hope that he could buttonhole the unsuspecting bastard.

Bent at the waist, he maintained a low profile as he snaked his way across the overgrown side garden. Happening upon a pile of metal posts – the kind of heavy-duty stakes that were used to pen farm animals – he pulled up short and plucked a five-foot-long pale out of the pile. It had good heft. More importantly for his purposes, it could be used as a deadly weapon. During the Middle Ages, before the advent of gunpowder, men marched into battle armed with far cruder weaponry.

Buoyed by his fortuitous find,
Caedmon dashed across the overgrown front garden. Although he’d not yet seen the enemy, he’d pinpointed his position to a small limestone outcrop due north of the cottage. While that gave the gunman an obstructed view looking to the south, it also put the enemy at a distinct disadvantage: it left his aft unprotected. If Caedmon executed a wide flanking maneuver, he could creep up from behind and take the bastard by surprise.

A few minutes later, he crested the small
rise that lay directly behind the gunman’s position. A summer storm was almost upon them, dark clouds clashing and colliding as the tall grass violently wavered to-and-fro. Standing behind the cover of an ancient oak, he scanned the rolling fields, searching for his quarry. His gaze methodically moved from one clump of dried vegetation to the next. On a nearby hillock, he spotted a parked SUV. But no gunman.

Where the bloody hell are you?

About to move to another location, Caedmon suddenly saw a flash of motion in the field grass.

I’ve got you, you bastard!

The gunman didn’t know it yet, but he was hiding in plain sight. If Caedmon had been armed with a firearm instead of a fence post, he could have easily bagged his quarry from where he stood. He trained his eyes on the jagged outcrop of limestone. The gunman was so cocksure of his defenses that he’d actually set the sub-machine gun on top of the stone slab.

How bloody perfect is that?

Caedmon slipped the fire axe out of the loop on his waist pack, grasping it in his left hand. A man can’t have too many weapons when charging into battle. The enemy’s position pinpointed, he made his way across the overgrown meadow, steadily advancing on the slab of limestone.

Ten
meters from his quarry, Caedmon was able to positively identify the man negligently leaning against the outcropping – it was Javier Aveles
.

Well, well, well . . . what do you know?

Caedmon came to a halt; afraid that if he got any closer, Aveles would hear his approach. He eyed the sub-machine gun in plain sight on top of the stone slab.
A Mini-Uzi unless I’m greatly mistaken.
Prized for its compact design, it was highly coveted by Mexican drug lords.

Raising his right arm,
Caedmon felt the muscles in his belly tighten. While he knew the element of surprise would be on his side, he also knew there would only be a few seconds to exploit the advantage. A few scant seconds to stun Aveles and seize the Uzi sub-machine gun.

He held
the five-foot-metal stake like a spear as he cocked his arm back. His bicep bunched; a coiled spring. Gaze locked on the target, he hurled the stake through the air. Just as he’d hoped, the metal spike plowed into the gunman’s right dorsal – the soft, vulnerable patch of flesh protecting the kidney.

Howling in pain, Javier Aveles
pitched to his left side. Away from the sub-machine gun.

Caedmon
lunged forward. Panting breathlessly, he belligerently stood over his quarry, the well-honed axe in plain view. Cowering on the ground, Aveles stared up at him, wide-eyed, clearly aghast to see him.

Finish him off!
a voice inside his head commanded.
This is no time for delicate sensibilities. This is war!

With that thought in mind,
Caedmon viciously swung the axe.

Only to swerve
away from Aveles’s neck at the last possible moment, the sharpened blade harmlessly
swooshing
through the air.

The will
simply wasn’t there to kill a defenseless man.

‘I’m going to be pissing blood for the next week,’ Aveles gasped with a pain-wracked shudder.

‘Stop your griping, Javier. A dead man would envy you the ailment,’ Caedmon snarled. Annoyed that he now had to contend with a prisoner, he jutted his head towards the parked SUV. ‘Give me the keys.’

A nasty sneer affixed to his face, Aveles shoved his right hand into his jeans pocket and removed a key ring. Just as he was in the process of handing over the keys, Aveles suddenly tossed them into the nearby field. In the next instant, he jettisoned towards the limestone slab, making a desperate grab for the sub-machine gun.

No!

Caedmon
reflexively swung the axe at that grasping hand, the sharpened blade cleaving the appendage at the wrist. A clean cut.

Aveles screamed in agony as a torrent of blood gushed from his amputated limb.
A hideous, pulsating geyser. Still shrieking like a madman, Aveles suddenly rolled towards the Uzi, reaching for it with his left hand.

Christ!

Caedmon had no choice –

―H
e sliced the axe blade across Aveles’s neck, severing his carotid artery.

More dead than alive, Javier Aveles glared at him in those last few gossamer
moments . . . just before he surrendered the ghost.

Still holding tight to the axe,
Caedmon stared at the dead man: Aveles lay in an ungainly sprawl in the thick, overgrown grass. A butchered mess.

The vultures will dine well this evening.

The thought induced no pang of Christian guilt. Caedmon was
mad as hell.

‘You fucking stupid bastard!’ he bellowed, infuriated that he’d been driven to kill.
‘You didn’t have to die.’
Why did you have to reach for your weapon? You had to have known that I’d counterattack?

Enraged by how quickly he’d lost control of the situation,
Caedmon snatched hold of the Mini-Uzi. The slight motion caused a tumult of pain. His ribs ached so intensely, it felt as though someone had maliciously taken a red-hot soldering iron to them.

Battered
, physically and emotionally, Caedmon flung aside the blood-drenched axe and turned away from the carnage.

As he wearily made his way back to the stone cottage, he caught sight of a white golf cart on the far hillside.

What in God’s name . . . ?

‘. . .
are you doing here!?’

‘I came to warn you!’ Edie shot back, receiving
a less than enthusiastic welcome from Caedmon. Cheeks flushed from having run across the dale, he stood beside the parked golf cart, a sub-machine gun tucked under his arm. ‘Javier is headed this way.’

‘That particular threat has been neutralized. And I’m sorry to have roared.’ Sighing wearily,
Caedmon glanced down at his blood-splattered shirt. ‘As you can see, we were embroiled in a rather precarious situation.’

‘
Please tell me that Anala is –’

‘Unscathed
.’ Caedmon turned towards the small stone cottage. ‘It’s all right to come outside, Anala!’ he summoned in a booming voice.

Within moments, the back door opened and Anala Patel, clutching a shotgun to her chest, tentatively emerged. Edie noticed that her finger was poised on the trigger – as though she wasn’t completely convinced that the coast was clear
.

Taking notice of
Caedmon’s blood-splattered shirt, Anala’s brows worriedly drew together. ‘Did you, um –’

‘Yes, I did,’
Caedmon interjected. ‘He gave me no choice. Although our assailant left us a rather nice parting gift.’ Grim-faced, he brandished the compact sub-machine gun.

‘I was so terrified that he would hurt you,’ the young woman said shyly.

‘While I’m sure that he would have liked nothing better, the brute’s plans were cut short.’

Anala peered at the golf cart.

‘No need for alarm,’ Caedmon assured her, noticing the direction of her gaze. ‘This is my partner, Edie Miller.’

‘Actually, the alarm is blaring,’ Edie said on his coat-tails. ‘Calzada and Diaz are on the prowl and, from what I overheard, they’re gunning for you.’

‘Christ!’ Caedmon peered furtively at the hill that overshadowed the ramshackle cottage. ‘But that makes no sense,’ he said a split-second later. ‘They don’t have the third plate.’

Edie shrugged, at a loss. ‘They didn’t mention that they’d found it. And, by the way, Cardinal Fiorio has arrived at Mercy Hall.’

The announcement incited another irreverent expletive.

Again,
Caedmon gazed at the towering hillside. ‘In that case, we need to head in the opposite direction from Mercy Hall. It’s imperative that we escape the Fellowship grounds.’

Within moments they were off, Anala riding up front with Edie,
and Caedmon scrunched in the rear folding seat. Overhead, a brilliant pyrotechnic show flashed on the horizon, ominous silver streaks randomly materializing. As they made their way across the rolling hills, the skies opened up, treating them to a heavy rainfall. While the golf cart had a hard top, that didn’t stop the rain from sluicing in from the sides.

‘
Did the priest ever show up?’ Caedmon asked, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding rain.